


The Third Thursday

by Trogir



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure, Gen, Humor, No Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:26:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8567674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trogir/pseuds/Trogir
Summary: “Oh, please! You heard me.” Pomona put her hands on her hips and smiled in a way unthinkable for a Hufflepuff. “You wouldn’t last a day without it. Nobody would be afraid of you, if you couldn’t give out detentions like Albus his hard candy!”The sheer possibility was so ridiculous that for a second Snape really considered laughing, but then remembered he didn’t really like doing it and probably forgot how to anyway.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Trzeci czwartek](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024674) by [Trogir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trogir/pseuds/Trogir)



> One fine day I was going through what I might call the nicest hangover of my life. I was dozing off and had one of those funny lucid dreams… Yeah, you know. Thus, I was blessed by the sinister powers that undoubtedly guide my despicable self, with a vision of yet another Let’s-Torture-Snape scenario. As you all might have noticed, I never write any HP fic that does not involve the aforementioned gentleman and since I don’t really care for canon either, please don’t expect this story to be life-changing or particularly serious. It’s just a silly little one-shot that I hope you all will enjoy. Having said that… Let’s crack on with the show!

**Disclaimer:** As you all might have already figured out, I am, in fact,  not J.K. Rowling, nor do I claim any rights to the world and characters she created. Everything you see here is a figment of my twisted imagination and was written purely for my amusement. Any resemblance between the characters in this story and any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental (except you, Jessica… B—ch).

 

* * *

 

 

Severus Snape was a very serious man, for the most part. In fact, one might even go as far as to call him “harsh” – though it is doubtful that anyone unfortunate enough to have to deal with him on a daily basis would put it quite so nicely. Frankly, it was not the brutal honesty that Severus was usually going for with people, but he had appearances to keep up, and that certainly helped him so far. “Far” means here: “exactly five years, eleven months, three weeks and six hours since his last life-changing decision”. And he was determined not to make any more of those in the nearest future, since he also was not the type that needed more than one smack on the wrist.

Even though “serious” is a trait easily comparable to “harsh” and “sentimental” is something of an entirely different sort, Severus was not completely unhappy with his current position as the Potion’s Master. Sure, he was miserable at times. Having to deal with children was never on his wish list. He wasn’t a person you’d call “popular”, either – rubbing elbows with Tom Riddle’s motley crew has left him rather friendless. Regardless of the quality of said “friends”, they still counted as something... Probably. Maybe. But in private, when no one was looking, Severus thoroughly enjoyed the power shift. No longer a student, now a teacher, he was determined to finally have things _his way_. Well, at least _some_ things, one could not exactly hope to go imperial on Albus Dumbledore, since, as it happens, one was banished to the dungeons.

At least he was given a free hand to arrange the classroom however he saw fit, and since Snape was an ardent advocate of neatness (terror) and believed that nothing said “professional” quite like “orderly” (utterly terrifying), anyone not complying to his rules would, undoubtedly, fail the class. No exceptions.

“ _HONESTLY._ ”

He was muttering under his breath while putting ingredients back on the shelves (reversed alphabetical order, left to right for convenience), when someone decided to interrupt him.

“Pomona,” he said, in a low and entirely emotionless voice. “To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

“You know precisely why I’m here!”

The older witch closed the door and folded her arms. She clearly expected him to face her, all the while trying to remain composed. Severus thought she was doing a _splendid_ job, and by “splendid” he meant “clearly faking it in every respect”.

“On the contrary.” He hesitated for a moment, trying to remember where exactly did he want the dragon blood vials, but couldn’t focus anymore. Must be something about those Hufflepuffs that just rubbed him the wrong way.

“Don’t think you can play smart with me, Severus Snape! I’ve been keeping a close eye on you!“

“Flattered as I am, Pomona–“

“It is _not_ your turn to speak,” she hissed, suddenly reminding him of that horrible cat his grandmother insisted on keeping. “You have just taken a collective of forty-five points from _my house_ and I demand to know the reason for this! _”_

He finally put down the vials and turned around. He would have never been able to behave like that towards any other professor at Hogwarts, however one Pomona Sprout was not a woman particularly savvy in the respect-inspiring department. Since he had a nasty reputation to uphold, a particularly horrible smirk momentarily stretched his thin, uneven lips. That aloof behaviour annoyed Professor Sprout even farther, along with the obvious fact that Snape, despite what Albus might have told the rest of the staff, was clearly never appointed a teacher because he actually cared about the position.

“Well?” She took a deep breath, while he raised one eyebrow, snide comments already bubbling and boiling under his tongue. “What do you have to say for yourself!”

He was taking his sweet time and when he finally spoke, she really wished that he hadn’t:

“And what, pray tell, would you like me to say?”

The older woman was honestly taken aback by the complete disrespect.

“You are a small and pitiable man, Severus Snape,” Pomona sighed. “I honestly wish I could see why he insists on keeping you here.” She shook her head in disbelief. “Have you no sense of decency?”

He straightened his back and looked at her coldly.

“Do not presume to know me, _Professor_ –“

“Oh, but I do know you,” she cut him off and nodded pensively. “I have known you since the day you first came here, all scrawny and frightened. I’ve seen you grow into what you are, _Severus Snape_ , most of us did.”

He was still perfectly collected, or at least trying to be, although if there ever was a thing in the world that Severus Snape really, truly hated, it was an assessment of his character, done by the people of which opinions he never even cared for.

“Well, isn’t this a delightful stroll down the memory lane…” He spat out “delightful” as if it was poisonous. She waved her arm dismissively.

“Yes, you do love the power, don’t you? Don’t quite know how to handle it, either, but always loved the feeling.”

Saying that somehow made her seem taller than she really was. He was still very much trying to remain unmoved by the discussion and ignore her every attempt to outtalk him.

“And what would you like me to do?” He sneered viciously. “Some sort of pardon? Waltz into the Hufflepuff common room and assure them of my affection?”

Her eyes suddenly grew large to the sheer image.

“Please don’t.”

“I do not intend to, I assure you,” he growled, glaring her up and down.

Sprout smelled of dirt and resentment and at this moment rather reminded him of a particularly wrinkly mandrake.

“Well.” She straightened her hat with dignity. “Nothing left for me to say, then. Good chat, Severus.”

“ _Pleasure_ ,” he snarled.

He turned towards the abandoned ingredient shelves and she reached for the door handle, but stopped herself mid-way.

“You know, I just keep wondering–”

 _Goody,_ he thought, tension immediately returning to his posture.

“–are my students really so disastrous at Potions or are you that attached to taking away the points?”

He gritted his teeth and slowly turned to face her again, this time holding another vial in his pale, bony hand. He wondered whether to hurl it at her now, or wait just a minute longer.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, please! You heard me.” Pomona put her hands on her hips and smiled in a way unthinkable for a Hufflepuff. “You wouldn’t last a day without it. Nobody would be afraid of you, if you couldn’t give out detentions like Albus his hard candy!”

The sheer possibility was so ridiculous that for a second Snape really considered laughing, but then remembered he didn’t really like doing it and probably forgot how to anyway.

“Remarkable prospect, Pomona,” he said, in a tone suggesting that nothing in this whole wide world was less so to him. “Touched as I am by the attention I seem to raise in your thoughts, I really must–“

“Ah! Forget it.” She suddenly gave him a warm, motherly smile and opened the door, for the first time almost having managed to confuse him. “Just an opinion, ‘s all. You do you, dear, and I’ll be sure to tell my students to try and not to breath in your general direction, how does that sound?”

Pomona went out but purposely left the door open. Just as she was just about to turn around the corner, an infuriated voice called her back from the end of the corridor:

“Wait.”

 _Slytherins_ , she thought, smirking not unlike one. _Not so clever now, are we?_

 

* * *

 

“How would this even work?”

“Simple, love. I told him to pick a day, any day. Say, the second Friday of January–”

“So January it is!”

“–but he said no.”

“No?” Minerva pursed her lips. “So it’s a no-go, then?”

“Not quite.” Pomona took a sip of her tea. “He, uhm… See, thing is… the second Friday of this January is his birthday…”

“Merlin’s beard.” Minerva shook her head in disbelief of what made some people happy. “He really is funny, isn’t he?”

Pomona raised her eyebrows.

“Well, not funny ‘ha-ha’, but funny as in...”

“Quite.” Professor Sprout nodded and sat in silence for a while.

“Say, you do know watering one’s plants generally helps them in this whole ‘not-dying’ ordeal?” She pointed towards the utterly miserable pot of something vaguely resembling a flower that stood on Minerva’s windowsill.

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy.” Professor McGonagall poured them more tea. “Now. Tell me, is it all arranged? Shaken on and such?”

“Yes.” Pomona smirked and reached for another biscuit. “He finally agreed to the third Thursday of November.”

“But that’s tomorrow!”

“I know. Quite canny, if I do say so myself.” Professor Sprout winked, very pleased with herself. “As of tomorrow, our favourite Potion’s Master will no longer be able to take away points for the whole of four-and-twenty hours!”

“How did you ever persuade him to agree to this is beyond me.” Minerva took a deep, relaxing breath.

“Love, he might’ve been jerking around You-Know-Who, but when will they learn they can never outsmart a woman?”

Minerva smiled discreetly into her cup.

“Well, maybe this will put some sense into him,” she said. “Five years we stood in silence and watched him carry on with his one man show. I’m honestly tired of losing the House Cup to _him_ , of all people.”

“Not to mention, this would actually make things fair for _the other houses_ , too?” stressed Professor Sprout.

“Yes, yes, of course. But still – he is a graceless winner, you have to admit.”

Both witches contemplated the clever plot for a while, before Pomona expressed the last general issue that was on her mind the entire time:

“You do realise that the students must never know? If they do…”

“They’ll raise havoc, probably. Yes, I know.”

“This might very well turn against us, Minerva.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“I don’t have any business in dealing with the _less charming_ side of his undoubtedly _lovely_ personality.”

The deputy Headmistress put down her cup and looked at her partner in crime with a somewhat dubious expression.

“Don’t worry. If anything happens, I’ll take care of it. So far let us hope this will teach our boy a lesson.”

Unable to disagree with that, the two Professors finally sank deeper into their chairs.

“It’s all for a good cause, anyway,” said Minerva. “And, after all, Hogwarts _is_ an educational facility, is it not?”

 

* * *

 

Pride is a curious thing – at least that’s what the eldest Weasley boy has always thought. Being sixteen and having six younger brothers _and_ a baby sister makes you realise how important it is to start behaving like an adult as early as possible. So Bill was his mother’s perfect gentleman – a Prefect, a good student with twelve “Outstanding” on his O.W.L.s, and a boy generally very mature for his age. 

Except for moments like these.

“Weasley.”

Even though he knew he technically wasn’t doing anything wrong, an icy-cold shiver went down his spine. As soon as he heard the ominous robe rustling, he knew what was coming.

“Professor…”

Bill raised his head to look at the dreaded teacher. For some reason, Snape looked strangely… well, Snape was always discontented. That was a rule, and when he wasn’t, it is only because he has just done something to purposely discontent others and was now thoroughly enjoying his deed. But now the Potions Master seemed… for the lack of a better word, almost _unhappy_.

Generally, Snape’s lessons worked according to an unchanging system – it might just as well have been put as an annotation into “Hogwarts: A History”. One could easily call it the “Snape Permutation” as well and wouldn’t even be that far from the truth.

Every student at Hogwarts knew that if a non-Slytherin made a reckless mistake in Potions class, Snape was _always_ there – all ready and thrilled in a way that could only be deemed unhealthy, sneering scathingly and ready to make unnecessarily wryly comments about said student’s incompetence, typically sprinkling it all with taking away an excessive amount of points, sometimes with a detention on top. Severus Snape was not a man who would willingly miss a chance to feed his twisted satisfaction. However, this time… Bill sensed something was very, very odd here.

“Weasley, where exactly does it say in my instructions that you should add the scurvy-grass before the bat spleen?”

Bill took a sharp breath, only now realising the rookie mistake. No wonder his cauldron has been spurting out those awful fumes for the past few minutes. He was, however, thoroughly prepared to face his punishment, since he knew how Snape just _loved_ the students stupid enough to talk back to him. Sometimes being a Gryffindor was harder than it looked.

“Nowhere, Professor,” he admitted, clenching his jaw and fully expecting Snape to revel in taking away the points, but then… Nothing happened.

Snape settled for a particularly mocking expression, before muttering “pity” under his breath and carrying on to the other side of the classroom.

“Very good, Kiely.”

Still in shock, Bill barely heard Snape praising his Slytherin students, and at the end of the lesson he almost ran out of the classroom, terrified that the awful man was going to change his mind about the points.

“Snape’s dying,” Bill announced to Charlie, squeezing in between him and Rosetta McKinnon at the Gryffindor table.

“About bloody time!” said Charlie, putting a generous portion of Shepherd’s Pie on his plate. “What has the bastard done this time?”

“Language,” warned Bill, though not very seriously since he was still eyeing the teacher’s table with the highest suspicion.

Charlie flicked Bill’s ear and smirked before focusing on his food. After lunch he had double Potions with Ravenclaw and was absolutely not going to face that overgrown vampire bat on an empty stomach.

“Why is he dying?” asked Rosetta, all in all way too cheerful at the prospect.

“We just had Potions with Slytherin,” said Bill, sipping his pumpkin juice and not even reaching for food yet. “My potion was a disaster, I mean it. Even you couldn’t have saved it.”

Rosetta smiled coyly at that remark. She really was gifted when it came to Potions, though she never expected Bill to compliment her on it.

“Fumes everywhere, nasty stench, just imagine, and he didn’t even take away any points! He just… I don’t know. It’s just so strange. He went to pet his Slytherins, like nothing happened.”

“Yes, what a pity,” said Charlie sarcastically, shaking his head.

“That’s what he said…” Bill furrowed his brows in confusion.

“Maybe he forgot,” said Rosetta, though realising mid-sentence that in case of Snape such thing would be highly doubtful.

“Maybe he really is dying! What is your problem? Be happy about it, what are you even complaining about?” The younger Weasley wiped his mouth and started to fill his brother’s plate, since he was still too deep into his thoughts to do it himself. “Stop worrying, maybe he got the flu.”

Bill immediately thought that the world would be a better place with a bed-ridden Snape, too weak to even blurt out any nasty remarks, and just as he was about to relax and eat his lunch, a familiar and serious voice in front of him asked:

“Are you guys talking about Snape?”

It was Rowan Smyth, a seventh-year Gryffindor who last semester bid quite the spectacular “farewell” to Potions. Nobody really knows what happened during her last exam with Snape but the dungeon renovations lasted all summer and Professor McGonagall still gets a rather formidable eye-twitch whenever she passes Rowan on the school corridor.

“I heard from Timothy Hipworth that one of the fourth-year Hufflepuffs accidentally sent her cauldron through the ceiling this morning and Snape did _nothing!_ He didn’t even give her any detention. He just… stood there, looking like he wanted to throw her after the bloody thing.”

Having said that, Rowan grinned, not even trying to hide her satisfaction. Bill made a mental note to find that Hufflepuff later. He doubted Snape didn’t really give her at least a week’s detention, since it would be very unlike him to suddenly grow a conscience overnight.

He found her near the Forbidden Forest, of all places, casually strolling past Hagrid’s hut. It was nearly evening and because this was Scotland in November, the sun was setting way too early. Weak, yellowish glows glistened on the Grand Lake and a cold, purple-and-blue sky was full of heavy clouds. It was going to snow any day now, though Bill was rather hoping that maybe not right this very moment, please and thank you.

“Oi!” He called after the mysterious girl and waved his hand in a friendly manner.

As soon as she saw his Prefect badge, she gasped and hid behind the hut.

“Wait! I’m not going to give you any detention! I just want to talk.”

He ran behind the hut and caught up with her just barely, since she was ready to make a run for it. Nonetheless, he caught her, so there was no point in running away now. She faced him defiantly, folding her thin arms and trying to look indifferent.

“What do you want, Gryffindor?” she asked.

“I wanna know about Snape.”

As soon as the surname was mentioned, her light brown hair suddenly turned bright red and Bill finally realised that everything about this day was officially too weird. The girl realised that something about her appearance must have changed, since she was more than used to the face that Bill was just making.

“What!” She raised her chin cheekily. “Never seen a metamorphmagus before?”

“As a matter of fact, no,” said Bill, smiling charmingly and extended his hand in greeting. “I’m Bill Weasley, by the way. I’m the Gryffindor Prefect.”

“I know.” She smirked and pointed at his badge. “I’ve been here four years, y’know. You might say I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Is that so?” He tilted his head.

She finally shook his hand and they stood in silence, the only sound around them being the wind rustling through the trees.

“And what might I call you, little miss?” Bill asked, unable to stop himself from unleashing his boyish charms that were, however, evidently lost on her.

“Just call me Tonks,” she replied cautiously, crossing her arms again. “What is it you wanted to know about that nasty bat?”

“I heard you blew up a cauldron.”

“Sent it through the roof more like.” The little troublemaker grinned; obviously quite pleased with herself. “Thought he would be livid. But he wasn’t, actually.”

“He didn’t give you detention?”

“No. Didn’t even take away any points, either.” Tonks shrugged and relaxed a bit more, which caused her hair to return to its previous colour.

“But you’re a Hufflepuff... Snape hates Hufflepuffs.”

“ _Gee_ , thanks.”

“No, I didn’t mean it _like that.”_

She raised one eyebrow at him, though her mischievous little smile clearly showed she wasn’t really offended.

“Let’s head back,” she said. “It’s getting chilly. You can spin your conspiracy theory inside.”

Bill couldn’t believe he was following orders of a fourteen-year-old – though a very charismatic one, he had to admit. He obliged because he really felt that he was onto something here. Since she decided to talk to him, he was prepared to be flexible. They both agreed that their common rooms would be way too crowded at that time, and the Great Hall was too conspicuous to talk behind Snape’s back. They were standing near the Grand Staircase, when Tonks suddenly tugged Bill’s sleeve.

“I know a place!” Without further warning, she jumped on the nearest staircase, which shuddered and lazily moved to the other side with a stony grind.

“What? What place?”

“Come on!”

Bill followed her as fast as he could, except she was smaller than him and incredibly quick. When she finally stopped running, he realised they must be somewhere near the Charms classroom, though he wasn’t familiar with this particular corridor. Suddenly the small but freakishly strong hand grabbed onto his robes again and before he knew it, Tonks pulled him into an empty classroom. It was stuffy and clearly unused for quite some time. The blackboard was still covered in mysterious scribbles, though an impressive amount of dust made the writings completely unreadable. Bill thought that it felt very much like a forgotten tomb and that the feeling of it wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

“How did you know about this place?” he asked, looking around and closing the door.

“You’re not going to bust me now, are you?” Tonks grinned again and sat on one of the desks. “We’re in this together, Head Boy.”

“I’m not a Head Boy.”

“Well.” She winked at him. “Not right now at least.”

“In addition to the metamorphmagus, are you also a Seer?”

“Mmaybe.” She grinned again and dangled her skinny legs above the ground. “So why do you wanna know about Snape?”

He sat on the desk in front of her, so that they were now facing each other.

“What were you doing near the Forbidden Forest?”

“Now, now. I was first!”

“Fine.” Bill hesitated for a moment but decided that they actually were in this together now. “I think Snape might be under some spell. Or a curse.”

Tonks looked at him curiously before snorting loudly.

“Yeah, right!” She chuckled, while he waited patiently for her to finish. “Give me a break. First off, Snape’s waay too smart to be under anyone’s spell, believe you me. Second – that twisted bastard probably knows every counter-curse and defensive spell in the book! Not to mention that whole black magic episode. So no, that’s so impossible, that’s like... Like waaay impossible!” She waved her arms in the air, trying to stress her point.

“How do you know all this?” Bill frowned cautiously, trying to read her but couldn’t. Despite her seemingly cheerful character and easy-going smiles, it was impossible to tell what was really going through her head.

“Doesn’t matter how I know,” she said.

“Fine. But you must admit that something is going on with him. It’s not like him to pass the chance to bully someone.”

“Agreed.”

Tonks dangled her legs again, looking absent-mindedly above Bill’s head. Quite unexpectedly, Bill caught a glimpse of colourful Muggle sneakers, which stuck out from underneath her robes. She caught his eye and suddenly sat still. He realised that for a moment Tonks was actually wondering if he was going to call her names.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “My dad works at the Ministry. Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Shrinking door-keys and biting kettles are his specialty, I mean… He is crazy about Muggles, constantly brings home some electronic junk.” Bill flashed her a smile and Tonks relaxed again. “Mum is so sick of that, seriously. She actually told him to either throw it out or keep it all in one place, so he built himself a shed. He spends there almost all his evenings, tinkering with car batteries and dentist tools.”

“That’s so cute.” She looked relieved and proceeded with the leg dangling again. It was as if she was unable to sit still. “I’m not Muggle-born, though. My mother is actually a very powerful witch,” she said proudly.

Bill nodded respectfully.

“Okay, my turn. What were you doing by the Forbidden Forest?”

Tonks bit her lower lip.

“You’re not gonna take away any points?”

“I can’t, actually. I mean not that I would, but it’s not my place. I can’t take away points.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Tonks narrowed her eyes and eyed him up and down suspiciously.

“All right…” She leaned towards him. “I heard they’ve got Thestrals. In the forest.”

Right. He had to admit – that’s not what he was expecting. Actually, nothing about Tonks was entirely obvious.

“Thestrals?”

“Yeah, you know. You can only see them if you–“

“Yes, I know.” He frowned. “You mean… You’ve actually seen someone die?”

“Well.” She pursed her lips. “Not that I know of, no, but that’s exactly my point. I wanted to check because maybe I have but I was too small and then there is this entire thing with Mum’s older sister that she never wants to talk about, and so maybe she’s dead! And I saw it! Can you imagine?” Tonks grabbed onto the desk and made a face suggesting she was clearly more excited about the idea than she should. “So I wanted to make sure.”

Bill was not quite sure what’s the appropriate reply to a story like that, so he settled for a dubious “huh”.

“You really remind me of my brothers,” he said after a while.

“You have brothers?” Her eyes twinkled and she looked positively ecstatic at the sheer thought of having siblings.

“Six of them, actually. And one sister, Ginny.”

“How old?”

“Well, she’s five now, I think. Or six. I’m the eldest. My brother Charlie, he’s our Seeker. He’s your age, I reckon. Then there’s Percy, Fred and George, and Ron, the youngest of us boys.”

“Which ones do I remind you of?”

“The twins. Fred and George. They constantly get in trouble, just like you.”

“Hey!” She outstretched her leg to kick him, but they were too far apart. “I’m not getting in trouble!”

He sent her a doubtful look and she stuck out her tongue.

“I rarely get caught, ‘s all.”

“There you go.”

They sat in silence again, cautiously listening if Filch wasn’t anywhere near their hideout. It wasn’t exactly against the rules for them to sit there, but they both knew the caretaker had a somewhat skewed idea of the Right and Wrong. Finally Tonks spoke again:

“So you really think there’s something going on with Snape?”

Bill nodded seriously.

“But he can’t take away our points…” Tonks smiled mischievously again and he was almost expecting her to rub her palms together, like all villains do.

“We have to make sure, though. This could be huge! Maybe Dumbledore finally had a hearty chat with him and Snape’s exceeded his detentions limit, or something.”

Bill couldn’t help but to chuckle at the idea.

“And how exactly would we make sure, little miss?”

“Well, like professionals do, of course!” She jumped of the table and loosened her yellow tie. “First, we gotta test the theory.”

 

* * *

 

Apart from some very special cases, Hogwarts dungeons were never anyone’s favourite part of the castle. Truth be told, stone walls and greenish glow really gave people the creeps. Tonks and Bill, on the other hand, seemed to be quite all right with the gloomy surroundings, which made Bill further explore the rumour about Hufflepuff’s common room whereabouts. For a minute there he thought he might just ask his new friend where it really was, but then for some reason deemed the idea impertinent.

“Are we actually going to look for Snape?” he asked, after they crossed yet another passage.

“Shh.

“On purpose?”

Tonks pressed her back to the wall and listened for a minute, before turning left. Bill followed; wondering if he should tell her there really was no point in sneaking up on the probably sneakiest of wizards. He followed Tonks through the corridors and finally found himself in front of the Potions classroom.

“You knock,” she said.

“Oh, no way! And tell him what, that I want a cup of sugar?”

Before they could argue any longer, the door suddenly sprang open. In it stood the man of the hour, holding a jar of something that could very well be human remains in formalin, though Bill really hoped that it wasn’t.

“Weasley.” Snape narrowed his eyes and looked at them both with clear loathing. “Tonks. Are you lost?” He sneered in a way that suggested their very near demise, or something equally cheerful.

“Not exactly, Professor.” Tonks smiled like an angel she most certainly wasn’t. “We were actually looking for you.”

“Then congratulations,” Snape growled, trying to shut the door when Bill blurted out:

“We were actually wondering if you might help us with something, sir.”

Snape looked at them both carefully and sneered mockingly when Tonks’ hair turned pale blue. Bill realised she must have been seriously nervous. There was a slight pause and then Snape sneered viciously, his dark and unpleasant eyes glistening in the darkness.

“Come in then,” he said smoothly, in a voice entirely too polite for him.

It was too late to back out now, though, so Bill followed Tonks inside, hoping she might come up with some actual topics for their apparently fictional Potions dilemmas. The classroom was empty and impeccably tidy. It was weird to be here after hours, though what probably was the weirdest of all was that Snape apparently believed their story. The dim, greenish lights and jars full of specimens in formalin always gave Tonks the creeps, so now she kept close to the door and, as Bill noticed, stopped smiling for quite some time now. Snape turned towards the ingredient shelves, evidently waiting for both students to speak their minds and after that finally leave him alone.

“We were wondering, Professor…” Tonks finally spoke, looking at Bill with a slight frown. “If you might know… something… about the fern flower.”

Snape put down the jar he was holding and raised his head slightly, looking up in clear annoyance as to why anyone in their sound mind would come and ask the Potions Master if he _knew_ about a potion ingredient.

“What about it?” he growled and finally turned around. He leaned onto the wall, looking at them both with an unreadable expression.

“Well, I was… reading this book. In the library, you see,” said Tonks, while Bill stood silent, careful not to interrupt her unbelievable lying performance. Why was she a Hufflepuff, again? He thought Hufflepuffs were supposed to be nice and truthful… or something along those lines.

Snape raised an eyebrow at the sheer prospect of that particular girl setting even one foot in the library.

“I see,” he said. “And?”

“I was wondering if we would ever use it. In a potion, I mean. During classes.”

“No.”

“Right…” She looked at Bill and then at Snape again, trying to figure out if this was enough to support her theory about Potion Master’s ban on tampering with points score.

“Was there something else you simply couldn’t bear not to know at this hour, Miss Tonks?”

For some reason Bill thought this just all might have been a grave mistake, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Snape clearly wasn’t going to take away any points or give out detentions, since if he was, he would have done so already. So what was it about him and that particular Thursday?

“I…” Tonks looked around, clearly stalling now and looking for inspiration. “And is it true that midnight is crucial for its powers? The fern flower’s, I mean?”

“No,” Snape said. “But it is, as it happens, past ten o’clock.”

The sudden realisation came upon two students, who looked at each other in utter terror. They forgot to take into the account that Severus Snape, apart from his _delightful_ character and all the other things that might define him, was first and foremost a true Slytherin.

“Please be sure to give Mr Filch my… earnest regards on your way back.”

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout sat next to each other during breakfast and both looked positively smug.

“We really should have made it an annual thing,” said Minerva, looking at the hourglasses with utter content.

Not one stone moved since yesterday. No sudden fluctuations, no panic-stricken students, and no hysterical comments from Argus Filch that he needed more silver for detentions. Everything seemed perfectly peaceful, even… Well, one might venture as far as to say that even Snape looked reasonably content.

“What’s with him?” asked Pomona, still not quite trusting of his character.

Minerva folded her napkin and looked to the other side of the table.

Severus Snape was sipping his coffee without the usual frown and sneer. Though, instead of being happy about it, Minerva sensed that something about that man would always seem quite disturbing indeed. Call it a woman’s intuition.

As soon as the Clock Tower bell chimed the full hour, Severus rose from his chair and strode down the Great Hall like the Death himself, ready to harvest innocent souls. Judging by his rather enthusiastic growls and the frantic movement in the hourglasses, Minerva realised the happy days were officially over.

“Well. It was good while it lasted,” concluded Pomona bitterly, wiping her mouth. “Come on, dear. Show must go on, et cetera.”

Minerva shook her head in disappointment and promptly followed her colleague’s lead to the door.

“You know, I’m beginning to think nobody but us takes this school entirely seriously, Pomona.”

“Right you are, love. Same time next year?”


End file.
